


Keep Most of Your Heart in London

by cresswells



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Fic Exchange, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Red White and Royal Blue Swap 2019, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-15 00:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresswells/pseuds/cresswells
Summary: Alex thinks he’s prepared – as prepared as he’ll ever be. He’s been waiting for months to do this. He even did his research on the proper etiquette for a British royal engagement – and then promptly ignored it all.AKA: The one with the engagement of the century.





	Keep Most of Your Heart in London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makeshiftrolley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeshiftrolley/gifts).

**FIRST SON TO BECOME FIRST AMERICAN PRINCE: 10 PICS THAT ** **PROVE** ** HENRY IS ABOUT TO POP THE QUESTION!**

**BUG**

Looks like US Weekly are getting their scoops from fanfic writers again.

???

**BUG**

https://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-news/news/first-son-to-become-first-american-prince/

that first pic is just us eating barbecue wtf does that prove? [eyeroll emoji]

**BUG**

It’s all bullshit obviously

**BUG**

They don’t know anything about this weekend

**BUG**

But you should send it to Henry to mess with him

Alex sends a thumbs up emoji in reply, but he doesn’t forward the link to Henry. Instead, he scrolls through the inane slideshow of pictures of the two of them: posing with their arms around each other in front of art galleries and shelter openings; shaking hands with world leaders and LGBTQ+ rights activists; holding hands whilst walking through the park near their brownstone. None of the pictures even remotely hint at an engagement, but the gossip writers have done a good job of spinning what little they’ve got to suit their story. If US Weekly are to be believed, the positioning of Henry’s hand on Alex’s back at the British Heart Foundation fundraiser they attended last month is a sure sign wedding bells are on the horizon.

Alex doesn’t really mind – it’s one of the nicer gossip articles he’s read about himself. And engagement rumours follow them non-stop nowadays. He can hardly go a week without seeing an article claiming that Queen Mary is forbidding them to marry, or that the two of them have eloped in an illicit private ceremony. A couple of months ago he would have laughed it off and immediately forwarded it to Henry.

Now, he just lets out a shaky laugh before closing the tab, shutting off his phone and curling his fingers around the small black box discreetly tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket.

*

Amy, sitting cross-legged on a cream-coloured leather chair opposite him, looks up from her embroidery. This time, she’s working on what looks like an asexual pride patch - probably for Cash. She gives him a steady, searching look, then smiles. “Relax, kid. It’ll be fine.”

They’re two hours into the flight from New York to London. To Henry. And yeah, rationally, Alex knows everything is going to be fine. He’s got a plan. He knows that Henry loves him. He knows that Henry wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

That doesn’t keep Alex from feeling queasy every time he imagines the myriad ways tomorrow night could go wrong.

Henry flew out to London four days ago at Bea’s insistence. For the last few months she’s been renovating their wing of Kensington Palace, and even though Henry has barely spent a fortnight in London over the past year – he and Alex have been based in Brooklyn for almost twelve months now – she wanted Henry to have a say in what happens to his rooms. Alex is supposed to be arriving tomorrow night, in time to support the opening of one of Pez’s youth shelters this weekend. Instead, he’s arriving 28 hours earlier, whereupon he’ll be secretly escorted from the airfield and ushered into a guest wing of Buckingham Palace (a mere two miles away from Henry in Kensington) which he’ll use as a base for putting his plans for Friday night into action.

Alex thinks he’s prepared – as prepared as he’ll ever be. He’s been waiting for months to do this (they’re not often together in London, and as soon as he knew he was going to propose he knew exactly where he wanted it to be). He even did his research on the proper etiquette for a British royal engagement – and then promptly ignored it all. He’s got a feeling Henry won’t care whether he asks the Queen for permission to marry her grandson. They’ll deal with her together – or just announce it to the public before she can say no. In what was possibly one of the most awkward phone calls of his life, he _ did _ ask Henry’s mother; she told Bea and Pez, who eagerly agreed to take up the solemn duty of distracting Henry for the next 33 hours and making sure he doesn’t venture into Buckingham Palace while Alex is holed up there.

33 hours. No – Alex checks his watch – 32 hours. 32 hours and 26 minutes to go. _ Fuck _.

Amy’s still looking at Alex. She puts aside her embroidery now and gives him a sympathetic pat on the knee.

“I remember being scared shitless when I was preparing to ask Naomi to marry me,” she says. “If it helps, I completely fucked it up. Stumbled through everything I’d planned to say, and I practically threw the ring at her.”

“That’s really _ not _ helpful right now,” Alex says.

Amy rolls her eyes. “Point is, I fucked up the proposal and she still said yes without hesitation. It’s about being with that person in that moment, not the words you say or how you say them. You’ll be fine, kiddo. And if it all goes to shit – well, then you’ve got an entertaining proposal story. At the end of the day, Henry loves you. He’s going to say yes. That’s all that matters.”

Alex is about to ask her for details about her failed proposal – _ just how embarrassing are we talking? _ – when they’re interrupted by his phone vibrating.

**HRH Prince Dickhead [poop emoji] [heart emoji]**

Bea’s been binge watching home renovation shows and she’s taken the extreme part of extreme makeover to heart

**HRH Prince Dickhead [poop emoji] [heart emoji]**

I came back this afternoon to find my rooms had been transformed into a construction site

Before Alex can respond, Henry sends a picture. In it, Henry stands in front of a plastic tarpaulin hanging from the ornate ceiling. Behind him, on the bedside table, is a jumble of construction tools, paint samples and what looks like fairy lights, all covered in a thick layer of plaster dust. There’s dust in Henry’s hair as well, and Alex feels a pang of longing. He wants to be able to run his fingers through those blonde locks and tease him about looking like a construction worker. Four days seem like a stupidly long time when they’re apart.

Amy laughs lightly at whatever face Alex is currently making.

“Better not let the press see you making those eyes at your phone,” she teases, “or they’ll have a _ real _ story for the gossip columns.”

*

**PRINCE UNDER PRESSURE: IS ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ CAUSING A RIFT BETWEEN HENRY AND HIS FAMILY?**

It’s one AM when they touch down. London is a blur of rain streaks, electric orange streetlamps and gleaming headlights as they speed through the city under cover of night. Thanks to Henry’s mother’s careful planning, he arrives with minimal fuss and absolute discretion. Royal guards flank him as he exits the car and he’s immediately escorted to the palace guest rooms.

Unfortunately, Henry’s mum is in Windsor this weekend. Fortunately, so is Henry’s grandmother. Alex made sure of that before he arranged to stay in Buckingham; he shudders at the idea of having to make nice with the woman who tried to force them back into the closet while planning his proposal.

There’s been more than a few rumours swirling around over the last few months as to why Alex hasn’t yet been seen at any public events with the Queen. Neither Alex nor Henry could care less. The Sun can write whatever they like about Alex tearing Henry’s family apart - he’s never going to forgive that old hag for how she made Henry feel.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Henry had said one night - after catching a glimpse of the article Alex had been hate-reading and tossing Alex’s iPad onto the couch in a barely controlled fury - “My mum, Bea, and you are my family. Philip too when I’m feeling charitable. I’m done prioritising _ her _ and her agenda over the people I care about most. If the tabloids have a problem with that, then fuck them too.”

Alex feels a bit hot under the collar thinking of that declaration - _ and the night that it had led to _ \- now, in this elaborate monument to the monarchy. As soon as the doors to his suite close though, he’s hit by a sudden wave of loneliness. He wishes he’d let June and Nora come with him. They’d wanted to - practically begged, even - but Alex had been insistent that they both stayed behind. There was more risk of the press spotting them if the complete White House Trio were in London, and he didn’t want anything getting back to Henry.

Now, though, he could use their support. He checks his phone as he climbs into the ridiculously plush, ornate bed that’s been prepared for him. 01:47PM Greenwich Meridian Time - that makes it almost 9PM at home. He texts June “You up for giving me a pep talk?” but jet lag and sleep deprivation get the better of him and he falls asleep before he receives a reply.

*

He’s woken by the vibration of his phone - a text from Pez wishing him good luck, followed by a series of thumbs up and boys-holding-hands emojis.

8AM. Alex’s heart constricts. He’s got 13 hours.

Walking through the palace, Alex realises that Henry wasn’t kidding about Bea’s projects taking on a life of their own; the Great Kensington Renovation seems to have spread to this palace too. Alex is sure last time he was here there were more royal guards and servants bustling around – maybe Bea’s emptied the place out for him. Or maybe they’re all outside, where some kind of garden party seems to be being set up under a white gazebo. Peering out of a garden-facing window, he can just make out a group of event organisers dressed in black carrying armfuls of flowers across the castle grounds, but he can’t make out individual features - which thankfully means that they can’t make out his, either. He’s still people-watching, psyching himself up for the day ahead, when Amy finds him.

“Ready, kid?” she asks, and to his surprise, he finds himself thinking it through carefully. Is he ready for the media frenzy, the endless paperwork, the myriad rules and restrictions that come with being married to a Prince of England?

He thinks of Henry’s bed hair and the copy of Le Monde carefully preserved in their bedside table and the way Henry presses his nose into Alex’s neck and inhales deeply at the end of a long day.

He nods firmly. “Let’s go.”

*

**“SORRY, SWEETHEART, IT’S OVER!” CLOSE FRIEND OF ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ DISHES ABOUT IMMINENT FIRSTPRINCE BREAKUP**

It’s time.

Alex is absolutely shitting himself.

*

The rest of the day went by in a daze. Alex spent the majority of the morning and afternoon skulking in the shadows of his chosen proposal venue, moving things to-and-fro, taking care not to be seen. Annoyingly, this mainly involved sending Amy back and forth through the public areas of the building while he stood around uselessly. At around 11AM he finally received a reply from June - a gif of two men dressed as a hot dog and a burger running through a finish line, pushing each other in their efforts to be the one to cross first, with the caption “You can do it!!!” He wondered if June was drunk - it _ was _6AM at home. He guesses it’s supposed to be encouraging.

Now, the sun has set and everything’s in place. Amy is inside, surveying the museum via security cameras, having promised to keep a respectful distance for the rest of the night. Alex has been waiting alone on the steps of the Victoria and Albert museum for ten minutes now. Henry’s driver, Sam, texted him five minutes ago to let him know that they were on their way. They should be here any minute now, and despite all of his preparation, Alex is kind of freaking out about it. He’s halfway back inside to check on his arrangements one last time when he hears his name.

“Alex?”

And _ oh. _There he is.

Henry’s standing at the door of a black car, which pulled up so discreetly that Alex, who had been looking for such a vehicle, hadn’t spotted it. He looks completely taken aback, so Alex helps him out by waving him over. Seemingly assured that Alex isn’t a figment of his imagination, Henry leans back into the car to exchange a few words with his driver. Alex can’t see Sam through the blacked out windows, but whatever he says seems to mollify Henry because he reaches back out and shuts the door.

As Henry walks towards him, the strangest feeling comes over Alex. His heartbeat settles into a slower, steadier rhythm. His palms no longer feel sweaty, the ring no longer feels like a weight in his pocket. Henry’s bewildered expression morphs into a soft smile, his lips curving up tentatively like he’s still afraid to show his true feelings, like he still can’t quite believe he’s allowed to. Alex feels the rightness of this moment settle in his stomach because he _ knows _ that smile. He wants to watch that smile evolve, wants to see Henry grow used to being openly happy.

He thinks, _ If anyone in this world deserves to wear his heart on his sleeve, my dear, it’s you. _

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he says softly.

“Alex?” Henry asks again, seeming bemused. “What are you doing here? I thought I was picking you up from the airfield?”

“Surprise.” Alex‘s voice miraculously sounds steady. “I got in early. Thought we could go for a midnight stroll through the V&A instead.”

At those words, Henry’s smile breaks out into a full-fledged grin (dimples and everything) and he jogs the last few steps to envelop Alex in his arms. His chin finds its rightful place on Alex’s shoulder and as his nose buries its way into Alex’s neck, inhaling deeply, Alex finally feels like he’s home.

Henry’s nose moves up, brushing along his jaw, then his hand finds Alex’s chin and tilts it ever so slightly so that their mouths line up and they’re kissing - in full view of the dark cars and London cabs passing by. It’s still exhilarating, getting to do this. To touch and kiss and hold Henry openly. His hands find Henry’s back and he deepens the kiss, pulling him in closer.

Someone across the street lets out a wolf whistle and yells, “Go on, lads, get it!”

Alex laughs into Henry’s mouth and they separate.

“Inside?” Henry asks, smirking.

Alex nods. As much as he’d love to give this enthusiastic bystander a show, he’s conscious of the need to not draw a crowd. They’re already pretty conspicuous, standing on the steps to an obviously closed building, both of them dressed to the nines. Henry’s suit is dark grey and for the first time, Alex notices that his tie is a splash of colour - red and yellow swirls. Something in his chest blooms at the sight of it, but he’s not sure why. He’s glad he got dressed up too.

His fingers find Henry’s and curl around them. “C’mon,” he says, and gently tugs them inside.

Alex has never been in the V&A without Henry before today, and they never come through the main entrance, but if Henry is confused by the confidence Alex displays as he leads the way, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lets himself be led, and they fall into their easy rhythm, laughing and whispering to each other and occasionally pulling each other into dark corners to kiss beneath priceless exhibits.

“Is Gavin here?” Henry asks at one point. “Or is Casey on duty tonight?”

“Gavin,” Alex says. “But we don’t need to bribe him.”

“Oh?”

Alex smirks at his boyfriend’s cluelessness. “I did one better,” he says. “I paid the head curator.”

“Oh.” There’s confusion in Henry’s tone now, and he’s stopped walking. Alex watches him carefully. There’s something new behind his eyes. A distance he hasn’t seen since the days before their first visit here, those days of both of them trying to give themselves away to each other in pieces, never letting the whole truth of their feelings spill through.

“This… isn’t an impromptu nighttime excursion, is it?” Henry asks cautiously.

Alex hesitates. He could fein cluelessness and keep Henry in the dark until the moment they step foot into the Renaissance City room. But this is their sacred space, and he can’t lie to Henry here.

Too overcome with nerves to speak, he shakes his head instead, and sees the distance vanish from Henry’s eyes, replaced by an expression of joy and disbelief. Henry squeezes his fingers and lets out a shaky laugh.

“Okay,” he says. “Lead on.”

Alex raises their joined hands to his mouth, then leads the way through the marble pillars, into the Florentine square beyond.

His extra 13 hours in London haven’t been spent in vain. Beneath the high vaulted ceiling, Samson and his fellows gaze down from their pedestals, elegant and imperious. Between them, hundreds of candles line the way to the marble choir screen at the back of the room, enough to give the room a soft, romantic glow without the need for overhead lighting. Candles line the rims of fountains and archways too, and a few dozen even decorate the balconies drilled into the walls high above (electric candles - the curator’s generosity and flair for the dramatic only extended so far, and they’d had to compromise when it came to balancing lit candles on thin balconies overlooking some of the museum’s most prized possessions).

Looking around, even Alex feels a little spellbound. There’d been several moments today when he’d worried that this would come off as tacky or overblown, but it’s perfect - understated enough that the plaza is still clearly their space, but transformed enough to make it clear that tonight is special.

He doesn’t spend too long admiring his own handiwork, though. Instead, he turns to see Henry taking it all in, openmouthed. When Henry meets his eyes, Alex sees everything he’d hoped for in his expression - love, awe, happiness, and something else too. Tears.

“None of that,” Alex scolds, brushing them from Henry’s cheeks. “I haven’t even gotten to the soppy speech yet.”

Henry laughs wetly, sniffs once, and lets himself be pulled along the candlelit path towards the Santa Chiara chapel.

Alex hasn’t dressed this room up. He didn’t need to; it’s beautiful enough as it is. He takes Henry to the altar, where Henry had whispered to him that he’d always dreamed of dancing in front of the Blessed Mother with a boy he loved.

And he gets down on one knee.

*

**CHANGING THE ROYAL RULES | FSOTUS’ A-LIST PARTIES, SECRET TRIPS ABROAD & FORBIDDEN PDA WITH HENRY!**

Drunk in love (and more than a little tipsy on the champagne provided for them by Gavin the security guard) Alex lets Henry lead him down unfamiliar streets, not caring about whether the pedestrians they pass recognise them or spot the new ring on Henry’s finger.

“No, no, no,” Alex had whined when Henry first pulled them out of a side exit and along a street Alex didn’t recognise. “I wanna go back down Prince Consort Road. It’s _ mine _ now.”

“We are _ not _ announcing our engagement with a picture of you posing by that sign,” Henry had insisted. “Anyway, I know a shortcut.”

Alex relents and lets himself be led, feeling deliriously pleased with himself. Amy was right, he’d realised, as he knelt on the stone slabs by the altar. The words and how he said them hadn’t mattered. It was about being with Henry in a place that was special to them both. It was the act of pushing the ring he’d picked out with his father onto Henry’s finger, laughing together when they discovered it was fractionally too big and would need resizing. It was the tear from Henry’s cheek getting transferred onto Alex’s as they kissed clumsily, both of them still laughing.

And maybe the exhaustion and nerves of the day are finally catching up with Alex, or maybe he’s just too lovestruck and high on the success of his proposal to pay much attention to his surroundings, but it takes him a while to see that Henry’s lying through his teeth. This so-called shortcut seems to last twice as long as the journey they usually make from Kensington. He’s about to say as much when they turn a corner and he recognises the monument glowing amber in floodlights less than 300 feet away from them. It’s the Wellington Arch, a magnificent stone archway topped by a bronze statue of an angel of peace descending onto a four-horse war chariot.

All at once, Alex realises two things: one, that Henry isn’t as drunk as he’s pretending to be; and two, that Henry hasn’t been leading them back to Kensington. He’s been very deliberately taking Alex right back to the palace he woke up in this morning.

“What’s…” Alex starts, then stops at the strange expression on Henry’s face. “I don’t understand.”

Henry’s watching him with a wry smile. He tugs on Alex’s hand, pulling them past the arch and towards a side gate leading to the very back of Buckingham Palace’s private gardens. He takes a set of keys from inside his suit pocket.

“You messed up all my plans,” he says ruefully as he selects the right key and turns it swiftly in the lock. “They’re going to be wondering what’s taken us so long.”

Alex’s head is spinning, and he doesn’t think it’s the alcohol.

“I don’t…” he says again, but Henry doesn’t give his brain time to catch up. He opens the elaborate metal door wide and pulls them both inside.

Alex’s jaw drops. Clearly, he isn’t the only one of them who’s had a busy day. Apparently while he’d been setting up at the museum, Henry had been carrying out his own preparations here.

The topiary surrounding them sparkles with tiny fairy lights set to flicker on and off intermittently. The trees, shrubs and even flowerbeds leading along the gravel path glimmer in the lights. It’s magical.

Just as Henry did in the museum, Alex stops in his tracks as realisation dawns on him.

“No freaking way,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t believe this.”

Henry leans in and kisses his incredulous mouth. “Believe it, love,” he says. He tugs on Alex’s hand. “This way.”

Henry leads Alex through the fairy lights to an area of open grass surrounding a beautiful 15 foot urn atop a marble plinth. Alex has never seen it in person before, but he recognises it from several late-night Google searches after obsessively re-reading Henry’s emails - and one email in particular.

The Waterloo Vase.

If he hadn’t looked it up so often, he might not have recognised it now. It’s been artistically covered in flowers - bright splashes of red and yellow which match Henry’s tie. As he draws closer, he recognises them as roses.

Red and yellow roses. The flowers of England and Texas.

Alex’s heart is in his mouth.

Beside the vase, four people stand, each holding a bouquet of red and yellow roses. Pez and Bea on one side, June and Nora on the other. June gives Alex a little wave as he gapes at them.

Something dawns on him. The event planners he saw from the palace window this morning - there were four of them, carrying flowers in this direction.

His sister and Nora have been in London this entire time. With Pez and Bea. All four of them knew he’d been planning to propose tonight. He’d asked Pez and Bea to keep Henry occupied, but he hadn’t thought to ask _ what _ they were doing all day. They’ve been playing him as much as Henry.

“You’re all traitors,” he tells them and he’s mortified to hear his voice break slightly. Nora sticks her tongue out at him in return.

Henry turns when they reach the vase, gives Alex a stupidly handsome watery smile, and squeezes his hand.

“My turn,” he begins.

He gets down on one knee and, predictably, Alex starts to cry.

*

Several drinks later, snuggled up next to Henry on a loveseat under the white gazebo Alex saw being set up earlier that same morning, he addresses the elephant in the room.

“You knew about this,” he accuses, rounding on his sister, who doesn’t have the decency to look the least bit shame-faced. “You knew we were both planning to propose, on the _ same night _ and you said nothing?”

June shrugs, tipping her champagne glass towards Henry. “I got into London about an hour before you did. Unlike you, your fiancé appreciated the help.”

“Technically, Henry was originally planning to propose tomorrow night,” Nora chimes in.

Pez thumps Nora on the back. “This one had the genius idea of a double proposal and we knew we had to don our fairy wings and make it happen,” he says.

“That’s why you forced me to change the date?” Henry asks, looking adorably outraged at the thought of being deceived. He turns to Bea. “You told me you were going to be at an Addiction Awareness Dinner! You used that to_ guilt trip _ me into changing the date.”

“And it worked like a charm,” she says smugly.

Alex turns to Bea. “You housed me in Buckingham Palace overnight, fully aware of the fact that I’d see your preparations if I ventured far enough into the gardens,” he says, bewildered now.

She grins. “Yeah,” is her only reply.

“Um, why?”

“For the thrill of it, babes,” Pez says, grandly.

Bea nods. “We addicts have to get our kicks somehow,” she says with mock seriousness.

Henry shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed,” he admits.

Alex is too overcome with love for them all to feel much of anything else. Ever since he arrived in London, he’s felt lonely, wishing that he could walk over to Kensington and share everything that’s been going through his head in the build up to today with Henry. Now, though, he realises, he’s been missing all of them. He curls into Henry’s side and wraps both of his hands around Henry’s left one, letting his fingers find the slightly loose ring he’d placed on Henry’s finger less than two hours ago. The weight of the heirloom ring on his finger (Henry’s father’s wedding ring) already feels familiar. He presses his face into Henry’s side, closes his eyes in contentment, and lets the rest of their friends’ conversation wash over him.

*

**RUNAWAY WEDDING: ELOPEMENT RUMOURS SWIRL AS PRINCE HENRY AND ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ ARE SPOTTED IN SOHO WEARING WEDDING BANDS!**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to bibliosoph for the beautiful Waterloo Award banners!
> 
> Come yell at me about these idiots and how much they love each other on [tumblr](http://midnightliars.tumblr.com).


End file.
